


First First Times

by charlottechill



Category: Magnificent Seven
Genre: First Meetings, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottechill/pseuds/charlottechill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series, Chris thinks he can take a chance on Buck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First First Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Written for my friends on the Drinking 'n Fighting yahoogroup](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Written+for+my+friends+on+the+Drinking+%27n+Fighting+yahoogroup), [because "there's more to life than drinkin' and fightin'."](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=because+%22there%27s+more+to+life+than+drinkin%27+and+fightin%27.%22).



First First Times

He hadn't known Buck Wilmington two weeks, but he knew everything he needed to know about the man. And plenty he didn't. Buck was funny but thought he was funnier than he was. He was handsome and thought he was handsomer than he was. He was charming and—all right, he was damned charming when he wanted to be, which seemed to be most of the time. He was gregarious, and easy-going, thoughtlessly generous and as eager for a fight or a drink as he was for the company of a woman.

Two weeks, and Chris had heard stories he couldn't believe were true, told with such sincerity that he was already starting to believe them. Two weeks, and bar fights and card games that told him why Buck was broke most of the time, and what money Buck had held onto, he spent as easily as most men made water. In his twenty-five years, Chris had never had a friend like this one, and that wrong-headed part of him had already started to wonder if they could make it better.

He snorted, muzzy with whiskey and deciding he was a damned fool to be thinking what he was. Not after two weeks. Not about somebody he'd seen in a fight, and knew was just as strong as he looked. But this boy was a long, tall drink of water, no doubt about that. And bright, and he smelled good, man and fresh sweat, like he'd just had a bath this morning. _Oh, you're gonna find yourself a heap of trouble, Larabee,_ he scolded himself. This was one of the many reasons he'd left Indiana, and run straight into the arms of trouble like Ella Gaines... which was no doubt a little part of what was nudging back in this direction.

"You don't worry about the women sometimes, Buck?" he asked, dropping a heavy arm over Buck's shoulder and using the whiskey as an excuse to lean on him, all the way out of the bar and into the street.

"Worry?" Buck asked blankly. "About what?"

"That half of what they say is more full of shit than half your stories?"

Buck shook him. "Hey, now! Don't talk about 'em like that."

"Will if I want," Chris replied stubbornly. "The last woman I was with... sheeit. She was brutal. And crazy to boot."

"Guess you just don't know how to pick 'em like I do," Buck said. He sounded smug—which actually, he did a lot. Chris secretly enjoyed the trait, but already he knew better than to show too much appreciation for it. Buck was about as full of himself as a man could get. "Here we are," Buck said, and hoisted Chris onto his own feet and turned down a narrow alleyway between two buildings.

Chris frowned and followed. They hadn't drunk _that_ much. Neither one of had the kind of money to indulge in the bender that Chris' mood was calling him to, not after that card sharp had damn near cleaned them out. Better anyhow to stay sober; Buck had offered to share his room again tonight, and getting any drunker would incline Chris toward all sorts of stupid things. Like following too close, like he was right now... he slowed down a little to let Buck's long-legged amble put some space between them, until Buck slowed again at the back of the boarding house and Chris caught up again.

"Woman who runs this place, she's taken a fancy to me--and who wouldn't?" Buck boasted with a chuckle. "She gave me a key to the back, so's I could come and go as I please." Chris would've been contemptuous of most men bragging like that, but he'd seen the bar girls flock to Buck like birds to breadcrumbs, and hell, he was doing some flocking himself. Chris couldn't say Buck was overly bright, and he did have a knack for offending people, but somehow that was a big part of his appeal. That and the way his dark hair curled over his collar, and the way his blue eyes danced with merriment, and the fact that there was something inside Buck that just screamed "on the prowl." Chris had started to seriously imagine how far he'd have to lean his neck back to accept a kiss by the time he'd started on his third whiskey tonight.

He'd seen Buck get friendly with the whores in the saloon they'd met in, but he hadn't seen him slip off with one. Maybe Buck would take him up on a carefully worded offer.

Maybe.

And maybe he'd best stuff those illicit thoughts back into the dungeon of his mind where they belonged.

Buck let himself into the building and Chris followed, feeling his way along behind Buck, who seemed to have measured out the number of steps from the back door to the stairs, and then from the top of the stairs to his rented room's door. He did have to fumble a bit to get the key in the lock, and Chris finally dug out a little tin of matches and struck one so Buck would be able to see.

He held onto it when Buck pushed through the door, and lit the kerosene lamp that sat on the table by the bed just before the match burned down to his fingertips.

"Here," Buck said, using his height and breadth to nudge Chris aside and grabbing up a stub of candle. "I'll get the other one while you set the chimney."

Chris had thought they'd just stretch out on the bed and go to sleep like they had the night before, but Buck pulled open the one drawer he'd stuffed all his belongings into and fished underneath his drawers, pulling out a half-pint bottle with a flourish. "Little nightcap," he announced. "Better'n what we were drinking in the saloon and cheaper, too." He took a swig and blew out a hard breath, frowning and squinting at the bottle's label. "Maybe not that much better than what we were drinking," he added, and passed it over.

Chris sniffed it first and shrugged. Buck was right, it was better. He took a smaller sip than Buck had, and looked between the room's only chair and the bed, hesitating. He wanted to stretch out, but he was better off—yeah. He sat on the edge of the chair and leaned forward, holding the bottle out for Buck to retrieve.

Buck sat on the end of the bed nearest him, close enough to make quiet words and passing the bottle between them easy. "Now, tell ol' Buck your troubles."

"Troubles?" Chris repeated, frowning. "I don't have troubles to speak of."

"Vicious, crazy women?"

"Wha—oh." He shrugged. "Her name's Ella." Buck leaned forward a little, clearly interested in a tale, so Chris started with the easy parts. "She's beautiful. Slim—I could touch my fingers at her back and my thumbs in front of her belly button, when she had her corset on. Small too, barely as tall as my shoulder. Dark hair."

Buck's eyes glinted in the lamplight. "Yeah?"

Chris snorted. "You'd have liked her, that's for damn sure. Right until she ripped you open and picked through your guts for a snack."

"Whoo, Chris. Come on now, she couldn't have been that bad."

"She could and she was," Chris groused. "She..." he pursed his lips, trying to decide how to explain a brilliant, twisted tornado that just loved to stir up trouble. "She liked sex, and she liked trouble. She liked her liquor too. She could keep up with me, no problem. In fact, I think she did it just to get me half drunk. I've got a little bit of a wild streak with too much drink in me—"

"Naw!" Buck mocked him, acting shocked at the very idea. "You?! You don't say."

"Shut up," Chris grumbled, and held his hand out for the bottle. When Buck passed it over he took another tiny sip and licked at his lips. "She liked to help me get drunk and then flirt with strange men, work me to call 'em out. And hell," he said, waving a hand and annoyed as hell at himself, in retrospect, "half the time I would. The other half..." he checked to see how Buck was taking all this, and found nothing but friendly curiosity on his friend's face. "She stole things from me, from strangers. She was a half decent pickpocket, which was what kept us with food and drink and a room at the hotel in Beaverton. I swear, Buck, violence made her want to fuck."

Buck nodded understanding, but he was clearly still on her side. "You've got no idea how she was treated growin' up, Chris. Could've been something awful happened to her, to make her that way."

Chris shrugged. "Could be. At some point though, you've got to take responsibility for what you are." His own words hit him hollow, given how he was pussyfooting around his wants right now. Still, his wants could get him hung. He had to be responsible for that too.

"Still. The ladies don't get the breaks we men do, Chris."

"Guess they don't," he agreed. "Still, Ella's no good," he added, wondering what the hell he'd been thinking, letting her reel him in and keep him wrapped around her finger for as long as he had. "Being with her... being with her was like walking on the edge of a sharp knife. Sooner or later, you're bound to bleed."

"Damn, Chris," Buck said feelingly, and reached out to slap his knee. "You really _don't_ know how to pick 'em."

Chris snorted. "And you do? Hell, if you've gotten your wick wet once since I met you, I didn't see it."

"And you wouldn't," Buck said, superior. "I don't advertise if it's gonna hurt a gal's reputation."

"I doubt you can damage the reputation of those whores who hang on you in the saloon," he shot back, snide.

But Buck didn't take offense. In fact, his face softened and a tender smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Those doves in there are better than half the women you'll ever meet," he said fondly. "You've got no idea how much they cope with, and they still find a smile and a way to laugh at the world."

"If somebody paid me ten dollars to smile, I reckon I could dig one up too," Chris scoffed.

Buck stretched his leg out far enough to tap Chris's boot with his own, a clear reprimand. "They ain't all like that. Most of 'em, they're good girls who got down on their luck, and figured letting a man pay for a pleasure they shouldn't have to sell was better than starving."

"You don't know shit," Chris said, mostly to keep him from getting too smug again. He'd seen it with his own eyes; Buck had a way with those ladies, and it didn't seem to involve doling out cash.

"I know more than you ever will," Buck said. His tone was sober enough, and serious enough that Chris peered closely at him. Buck looked somber, and smarter than he usually did, and his eyes darted nervously around the room.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

Chris passed the bottle back just to encourage him, but Buck screwed the cap back on and set it on the floor by the bedpost. "Buck," he said.

Buck let out a long sight and sat up straighter, pinning Chris with a wary gaze. "Reckon I'd tell you some time or another," he said slowly. "My mother worked in a cathouse. I grew up in one. So yeah, I think I know more than you ever will."

The shock of it hit Chris in the gut and all he could get out was, "Shiiit...."

Buck snorted, and then he started chuckling, and both seemed genuine. "I'm not complaining. I learned a whole lot about people, and about the world, Chris. That life was better than plenty of lives I could have chosen," he said, and raised a pointed eyebrow at him. "Hell of a lot better than digging in the dirt two hundred days a year."

Chris snorted. He couldn't disagree; farming was hard work, and dreary, and he couldn't have stood to keep it up as a man. "Guess I can't argue that with you."

"That's right."

"So why didn't you want to tell me?"

Buck smiled, but it seemed a little more forced this time. "You never exactly asked."

Chris grinned at that. "As much as you talk, a man don't have many opportunities to ask much."

Buck's face went wary again and he said, half hopeful, "It don't bother you? It bothers a lot of people."

Chris felt it again, that tightness in his gut that hit him now and again when Buck got all sincere. No, Buck's history didn't bother him at all. In fact, it could be a good thing; since Buck had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, he might be more amenable to the sins Chris was looking to commit. He grinned. "Nope. Long as you didn't catch any diseases, anyway," he added, mostly to see if Buck would smile or frown.

He frowned. "We'd best get to bed."

Chris licked his lips. "Yeah... yeah." He was going to do it, and he knew he was now, and all that was left was finding out what Buck's answer would be.

He waited until Buck had his boots off and they were both out of their hats, guns, kerchiefs and shirts when he offered, and Buck's response showed clearly enough that he'd never done it before. The first look was shocked understanding. The next, quick as a lightning flash in a tornado cloud, was dark, roiling anger. Chris tensed, ready to defend himself or even run, if he felt it prudent, and stay outside until Buck calmed down. He edged a step toward the door.

"I ain't no--what the _hell_ made you think I'd ever... that's disgustin', that is, it's—"

"Keep your voice down!" Chris hissed.

Buck didn't stop his tirade, but he did rein it in to whispers. "Nobody ought to want to do that! That's something only--what were you offerin', anyhow?" The defensive anger switched so fast to guarded speculation, Chris had trouble keeping up.

He shrugged. "Maybe nothin', maybe somethin'."

"You said 'fuck'," Buck accused, his anger surfacing once more.

"And now I'm sayin' I didn't mean nothin' by it," he snapped back, backing away from the subject with as much finesse as he could muster.

"I ain't gettin' fucked, no siree, you c'n just count me out on that, you hear me?"

But the way Buck said it... It sparked something in Chris, some unreachable feeling, some--ah. He grinned, slow and broad. "I didn't say I was gonna fuck you. Hell, I'd be happy for a little mutual relief." He paused though, measuring his partner as carefully as he measured his opponents in any poker game or any fight. "But you c'n fuck me, if you want."

Buck's jaw unhinged and his mouth dropped open in shock. "I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that you were a funny boy like that," he breathed.

Chris shot him a glare he'd best pay attention to. "Don't know what you think you know, but this don't change nothin' else about me. You'd best remember that," he said, hard.

"But you just—" Buck waved a hand. "You... I don't-- I ain't gonna--" there was breath in Buck's deep voice, a lot of it. "Why the hell would you want..." Buck looked him up and down, pausing at various places along his body in a way that made Chris want to squirm. Buck looked away then, a puzzled frown on his face that made him look like an upset little kid, and the look stayed there so long, Chris felt his stomach knot up. He'd never had a friend so good as Buck; he knew that already, just from two weeks of carousing, that and the fact that Buck hadn't taken a swing at him over this. He hadn't meant to hurt him, sure as hell didn't want to run him off.

He drew breath to speak, to take it all back, when Buck looked back and squarely met his gaze. The look was intent, but not angry, and Chris had the disconcerting feeling that Buck was peering right into him.

Then that jaunty grin resurfaced. "You're gonna have to tell me how in the hell you ever came up with this kind of an idea."

Chris frowned at him. "I ain't you, I don't go tellin' everything that's happened to me since the day I was born to anybody who'll listen."

Buck frowned right back. "Chris," he said, just the one word all gentle and admonishing. "Don't be like that." He added for good measure, "Besides, you started this."

"It ain't—I don't—" Chris sighed. He really needed a couple more drinks, because just this tight, Buck was making too much sense. "Somebody showed me. It was better'n I thought it'd be. Not better'n women," he said, meaning it. "But different." He shrugged, diffident now. "It's good or it isn't. Only one way to find out."

Buck's frown faded to nothing, and Chris could see the way Buck was working up his courage. "All right," he finally said, fake casual, working hard for his 'seen it all, done it all' attitude. He missed it by a mile. "Seein' as you're offerin', 'n all."

Chris had Buck's number, all right. This boy would fuck a fencepost if he thought it'd feel good. There was a word for men like him, hed-, hedon--aww hell, horny worked just fine. And smart enough not to let opportunities pass him by. "You done this with a woman?" he asked, unbuttoning his fly. This was going to be good, he could just sense it.

Buck chuckled. "Ain't much I haven't done with women," he said, his voice rich and smooth, like good whiskey. Hell yes, this was gonna be good.

"Ain't much different--" he stuttered to a stop when Buck sidled right up against him and big hands settled at his waist, squeezing gently.

"Do men kiss each other, and all that stuff? Like with a woman?" He was so curious, so damned eager; in the space of two minutes, he had turned self-righteous affrontery into an unconscious seduction.

Chris swallowed and tilted his head back. "Yeah, men kiss. If they wanna." He couldn't say that for sure, since he hadn't ever wanted to kiss a man before, but it wasn't like there was an almanac for this.

"I like kissin'," Buck said so low that if he hadn't been this close, Chris would never have heard him. And before he could reply, Buck was framing his face with those big, tanned hands, guiding his head sideways, and descending to his mouth like a spring rain towards the land. Chris found himself clutching at Buck's hard biceps and savoring every detail, from the way Buck thought he would get to take control of it all, to the way his mustache prickled and tickled Chris's upper lip.

"Get your clothes off," Chris panted when Buck pulled back to look at him, like he was measuring the effect of his kisses on Chris and trying to decide if he was all right with having been kissed back just as much.

Buck licked his lips and Chris saw it again, the hesitation warring with the idea that it could be good. "There a fire? What's your hurry?"

"I—" he couldn't very well tell Buck he'd been looking at him and thinking about it for days, now. "I reckon most men don't draw it out," he said instead. "It's a risk, after all."

Buck grinned. "Well that there door's locked, and I've got the key. And I ain't most men."

Chris sucked in a slow breath. Buck was sure as hell right about that. Buck was good enough at seduction that it was easy to give him time, let him lead a little bit; when Buck's hands edged to his ass and away again, he grabbed the man's wrists and pushed those hands back down, encouraging. "Ain't gonna bite," he breathed, and leaned in for more kisses as the tension built in both of them and their cocks came up, hard bars trapped behind their trousers but easy to feel when they rubbed against each other.

Chris focused a little more on loosening their clothes than Buck did, but he didn't feel much cause to rush. Buck was right about that. Still, he felt like his skin was on fire when he finally pushed the point. "Come on, let's get on the bed."

"Yes sir, Mr. Larabee sir," Buck teased him. It was chiding, and amused, and somewhere under the amusement, nervousness still lurked, but it said a lot.

They met in the middle of the mattress, Buck produced the necessary accessories, and after taking a minute to see, and then touch and feel what he was about to get, Chris gave one word of warning. "I ain't had nearly as much practice as most of your gals probably have," he said through tight lips, then he turned and propped up on knees and elbows.

"Chris..." softer than a sigh and warmer than a down comforter, the one word made his belly ache, and then Buck curled over him, thighs pressed against Chris's, cock nestled along Chris's crease but not trying to race into the barn... hands cupping his forearms and tracing the hairs there. "Don't you worry," Buck said, in a way that made Chris feel more naked than he already was.

He didn't say anything though, just sucked in a breath as he was first oiled, then stretched, then fucked to within an inch of his life. He came so hard he thought he'd never stop. Somewhere in the middle of coming while trying not to let any sounds out, he thought his heart might burst right out of his chest, and Buck sounded no better. His breath whistled through his teeth, hot and damp against the side of Chris's neck as climax caught him too and made his whole body shudder against Chris's.

Slowly, so slowly he almost didn't realize it, Buck's weight lowered onto him bit by bit until Buck, his full weight straining Chris' ability to bear him, gasped, "That weren't like I thought it was gonna be at _all_."

Chris snorted. He couldn't help it. "What the hell did you think it was gonna be?"

"I don't..." Buck licked a stripe of heat up the back of Chris's neck. "That was--shit, that was good!"

"Guess you don't miss tits as much as you thought you would," Chris said, and finally gave up the effort and just dropped flat to the mattress, panting into the pillow. Buck followed him down mostly, but held up some of his weight with one elbow, right beside Chris's ribs.

"I always did like this part of a woman best," Buck breathed, and Chris felt fingers trace his hip, thumb dragging along the curve of his ass. "Guess it'll be the part of a man I like best, too."

Chris snorted. "You ain't even learned all of a man's parts yet."

"You seemed happy enough," Buck replied, unoffended. Too damned smug already.

It wasn't like Chris could argue. "Get off me before you squash me," he grinned, and sighed when Buck eased off him to stretch out beside him on the narrow bed. Buck propped on an elbow and just stared at him, like he'd found buried treasure buried in a pile of manure and he still wasn't sure if the find would be worth the dig. Chris could understand that, he truly could. "You weathered that better'n I thought you would," he admitted, unaccountably willing to share all sorts of secrets, now.

"Oh yeah, because you're so worldly," Buck scoffed. "You've got grit, Chris, I'll give you that. And you fight like a madman. But you ain't shook all the farmboy off you yet, no matter what you think."

Chris shrugged. He worried sometimes that he never would, that all the drinking and fighting and shooting and sinning in the world wouldn't break him of that. He liked the idea of them bedding each other like this, of them liking each other enough and liking it enough to want it to be good, but that insight—and how right it was—made him feel too exposed. "So you wanna do this again sometime?" he asked, feeling a nervous flutter in his belly.

Buck grinned and palmed his buttock. "I wanna do it again right now!"

Enthusiasm, Buck had a whole hell of a lot of enthusiasm. He looked at life like it was a banquet and he was the guest of honor, happy to take it all in and enjoy every morsel. Chris, on the other hand, tended to look at life like a war, where he fought to earn the respect he deserved, and damn the man who got in his way. Lying here with Buck smiling sappily at him, he could see the appeal of Buck's way of thinking. He wondered if Buck could see the appeal of his, and knew Buck could. They fought too well together for him not to. Fucked too well together too, maybe... he yawned, feeling his jaw crack with the effort.

"Somebody's got to get up and turn off the lamps," he mumbled. He wasn't going to, even if it was Buck's room.

"Let 'em burn. Plenty of oil to see us through mornin'."

Chris turned his head and blinked at the kerosene lamp that sat on the bureau across the small room. Its belly was almost full; Buck was right. Tonight was taken care of, and tomorrow would take care of itself.


End file.
